


Changes

by NuttersandAcorn (orphan_account)



Series: Life's Gone Quiet and Still [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Paralysis, Serious Injuries
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-09-26
Updated: 2012-09-26
Packaged: 2017-11-15 03:13:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/522517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/NuttersandAcorn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>During rehabilitation, Greg gets a visit from Sherlock with a surprising offer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Changes

**Author's Note:**

> I barely have any idea on what I'm doing, so just hang tight with me and I'll learn.
> 
> This fic was written for [lorycannotsupinate](lorycannotsupinate.tumblr.com) after the Emmys when everyone was screaming about Sherlock (let's not go into detail) and she declared that writing or drawing Sherstrade will make everyone feel better.
> 
>  **Warning:** As it says above, paralysis. What a pain to research!

If a stranger was to see Gregory Lestrade now at, let’s say, his niece’s pool party, he’d look like a completely normal guy. Sitting on the pool steps laughing, the looming figure of Sherlock Holmes usually either sitting next to him or not too far away. When it was time for them to get out, for either cake or just to leave, though… Sherlock would dip under Greg and lift him out of the water. Greg would let him, and hold his arms around Sherlock’s neck as the detective gently placed him in a towel-covered wheelchair nearby.

That stranger would probably stare and gap before turning away, because it was rude to stare.

The thing was, Greg was paralyzed.

The accident, which involved a rollover and a tree, had been devastating. The police car had been smashed almost in half against the tree; the glass shattered and steel twisted in unimaginable ways. Greg had been found several feet away, having been thrown from the vehicle mid-roll, barely alive. What had saved his life was a quick slight-of-hand as he undid his seatbelt and let himself smash out the windsheild. It was either that or the tree, and the tree was not going to be merciful. His condition had been touch-and-go for several days. He was alive; yes, but his legs were useless to him now.

He was in the hospital for almost three weeks, and rehabilitation for another four. He never relearned to walk, but if he tried really hard and concentrated, he might have been able to move a toe.

He used to be five foot eleven- almost as tall as the dreamy Sherlock Holmes. He is six feet tall. Greg had been proud to say that he didn’t have to tip-toe or stand back too much to look him straight into the eye. But now, he guessed that he was… four foot six? Technically, he was still five foot eleven, but sitting reduced his height by about fifteen inches. Possibly more.

A bothersome predicament of the paralysis was space. Greg’s only transportation, other than being carried or crawling, was his wheelchair. And his small, cramped flat was not the best place for one of those, and it didn’t help it was up two flights of stairs. So he moved to a much bigger flat; one that was more wheelchair accessible and on the first floor. He loved the place. Sometimes, he’d purposfully fall out of his chair and sprawl on the floor and relax, a grin on his face. He’d text Sherlock after that, if he was feeling really lazy, to help him back in his chair or on his couch.

The one thing he wished for; though, was to be treated like a human being. It was the first thing he said, once leaving rehab. “Don’t treat me like I’m helpless. I’m not.”

And because of the paralysis, people babied him. And he hated it. During his hospital visit, it was different. He knew he had needed it, especially with how weak he was, but after some time he wanted to feel independent and back to his norm. There was… one exception.

It was about twelve days into his rehabilitation that Sherlock came to visit.

“Took you bloody long enough,” Greg grumbled from his seat at the window. “You haven’t visited since I got here.”

Sherlock just stood at the doorway, hands clasped behind his back. “I’ve come to inform you of a couple of things.” Greg stayed silent, though the thoughts ran through his head. “The first thing is, I believe that you shouldn’t live alone.”

“Knew you’d say that.” His voice had a growl at the fringes. “So what are you Holmes boys planning now? Sending me to some nursing home? Pampering me like some sick puppy?”

Six strides forward, and Sherlock was right next to Greg. “I know you don’t want that. The nurses at the nursing homes won’t. Mycroft and I have been talking.”

Greg waved a hand. “Go on.”

“We’ve decided on moving you to a bigger, more accessible flat. The one you have currently involves stairs, and wheels are known to fall down stairs. And I will be your caretaker, along with John, until he marries.”

A blink, and then Greg understood. He twisted in his chair to glance at Sherlock. “You? When have you cared about that?”

“Since Dimmock found you on the side of the road, dying in a pool of your own blood.” Sherlock said that with such ease that it made Greg shiver, and he rubbed an arm. “No matter what you think, John and I will be moving in with you as soon as you move in yourself. And we promise that we will give you as much freedom as you need, and help you only when you desperately need it.”

Greg saw something in Sherlock’s eyes. He couldn’t exactly place it, but it reassured him that, yes, maybe he  _was_  telling the truth. “…Are you being honest?”

Sherlock rolled his eyes and let out a laugh. “Typical of you to think that. Why would I lie to someone I sentimently admire?” He batted Greg in the shoulder.

“Because you do it often.” But Greg gave a smile back. “Alright. I’ll let you help me.”


End file.
